The Story Writer
by phantom's angel52
Summary: The imagination of a captive Belle searching for the truth of her "prince" leads to a greater story that could save everybody in a land known as Storybrooke.
1. The Story Teller

_**Author's Note:** This is a head canon I recently thought of after thinking back on the Beauty and the Beast episode of Once Upon a Time. I am not sure how long this will turn out, or if it will even go anywhere. This takes place before Emma comes onto the scene, but it links to what we see at the very end of the Beauty and the Beast episode. I may write small pieces of accompany this fiction, or I may just leave it as a one shot. Either way, this is a short story to feature a head canon of mine. I have only written for Phantom of the Opera before, so venturing outside of the Phantom community is a big leap for me. I really do hope you enjoy :) _

_- Phantom's angel_

* * *

Rest betrayed her nocturnal eyes as she forced herself to rise earlier than normal. Words and stories were rushing through her mind, trampling out the very thought of sleep and focusing her on what would happen next in the stories she'd heard. Who would stand a victor and who would be slain? She assumed it was near six in the morning, but it was difficult to say. Though time had not existed for so long in Storybrooke, she tried to maintain it. Just like any human, she thrived to control her day with a pattern. She awoke in the mornings, she thought of the stories she'd been told, she stood for a stretch, she was delivered breakfast, she thought some more, she wrote, she ate lunch, she stretched, she wrote, she thought, she ate dinner, she thought and she slept. Based on her lack of sleep, it must have been near six o'clock. Her judgment on the time only came as the latch of a vault turned and a slight stream of light spilled into the cell.

_Yes,_ she thought. _It is now near ten o'clock._

Belle thrived on hearing the stories that _the witch_ came to tell her. It was all she craved and now it was getting to the point of true insanity. She never believed herself to be insane, but it was what the nurse told her. It was the woman's constant reminder to her, but the witch never said it. She must have known she was perfectly normal.

_She must know…_

* * *

The first years in the asylum's cell were dark. No body came into her room and she never spoke a word. A gloomy haze filled her heart, but she was never able to understand why. It was more than just feeling trapped, but it was feeling that she once had something wonderful, but she'd never see it again. But of course, she could never discover what it was she lacked.

Until one day when the door opened.

The first time that the black haired witch entered Belle's cell, she smelled of freshly trimmed hedge and apples. Belle never saw hedges in the cell, but she knew how they smelled. She'd also had her share of apples. She didn't know what time it was or how long she'd been in that cell, but she only remembered waking up one day and being there. It was as if she was born there and at that point knew no other than the nurse who cared for her through the peak hole.

The witch stepped into the cell, filling Belle with fear as she caught a glint of white teeth flashing at her; the woman before her was smiling pleasantly. As her eyes adjusted to the unforeseen visitor, she saw she was quite beautiful. Her lips around the glistening teeth were full and red, her hair was short black, her eyes were a deep brown and her features were fair and brilliant. Belle thought she be a queen.

She walked into the cell and nodded, giving a sly smile as she stared into Belle's eyes. She almost couldn't stand to look at her directly, she'd never had to look upon anybody like this in her time in the cell. Yet emotions uprooted themselves to force her to remain strong; she stared right back at the woman. The woman seemed nearly surprised.

"Good morning, Belle," she said smoothly.

Her steady eyes fell to the ground.

_Is that…?_

"I beg your pardon?" Belle said slowly; her first spoken words.

"I said, 'good morning,'" the witch repeated.

"Is that...—"

"Your name?" the witch asked. "Of course it is."

Belle remained silent. Thoughts began stirring inside of her, as if the name drew some distant memories to sort through. The beautiful woman looked down to her and gave another false smile.

"May I?" she asked, gesturing toward the bed Belle sat on.

Belle nodded and scooted over, letting the woman set down onto the rusting springs.

"I need a good pair of ears," the witch said. "Do you mind?"

Belle didn't agree or disagree, but sat to the woman's side, staring at the ground.

_I don't know how good my ears are,_ she thought.

Without consent, the witch began telling her the story.

Belle's story was nothing of importance, for the witch kept her tale out of the budding romances that took place in a land full of kingdoms and royalties. She told Belle of the land's many kings and queens and the magic it once held. But in the name of revenge, the witch created an evil curse to conceal every character within a realm in which they did not belong. Weekly, the witch returned at her pleasure, giving Belle the details of a small town that was stuck in time. Storybrooke was a place of characters who were concealed from their fates in the form of delayed clocks and forgotten memories.

Every week the witch would entertain Belle's growing imagination of the town by giving details to fill in the stories she'd left her with. The witch told of the character's pasts and their present misgivings, and how she carried the upper hand to all of their fates.

She even mocked a timeless understanding that True Love's kiss could break any spell.

"Not this time," she'd muse. "It will never happen."

Belle began acquiring an understanding to each character within the mapped out story. Through the witch's confiding in Belle and her role as mayor of Storybrooke, Belle began to know everybody. She longed to hear of Ella's continual pregnancy, Ruby's monthly 'mood swings' and Grumpy's constant complaints; all which were a continued annoyance to madame mayor. But Belle longed to hear more.

As the story built, Belle pitied them all. How unfortunate that she should know the truth when their stories were so captivating and uplifting. Her gratitude to the witch for relaying the story was immense, yet she hated the woman for keeping the lives of these people and creatures hidden.

"All for their good," she'd say.

The gossip of the week usually detailed the story of a young woman named Snow White; an enemy to the witch. Yet one week, the witch turned to Belle and stared for a moment. She hardly looked at Belle when she told the stories; it was much like a horrible confession she was giving. But this week, she watched Belle, who eagerly anticipated for the story to continue.

"_Your prince_ has been quite a nuisance this week," she finally said.

Belle remained silent.

_I didn't know I had a story, let alone a prince._

"Yes, dear, you did have a prince," the witch said, as if trying to erase the possibility of her imagination building up. "But you didn't get your happy ending. And you never will."

There was no further discussion of it. The witch told Belle occasionally of her prince and how he was a user of dark magic, and that even in Storybrooke, he could never cooperate with social norms. But Belle continued to wonder what her story looked like. What led to their meeting and their unhappy ending?

* * *

"Your prince lost something very valuable today," the witch said that day.

Belle was tired. Despite it only being sometime around ten o'clock, she was tired. Even at the mention of her prince, she was tired. She was also disappointed. Belle was expecting more to the other character's story, and whenever the witch spoke of _her_ prince, the story never continued. The witch left Belle dry each time her prince was mentioned; she left her with nothing to add on. Yet words of value made Belle quite curious.

_Am I of value?_

The witch remained standing. It wouldn't be a long story today; not this week.

"He lost something very valuable to him, and he's already on the hunt for it."

Belle kept her eyes down.

_I want a story._

"Do you know what that object is, Belle?"

The witch was leaning over her ever so slightly now. She was standing very close and leaning over Belle, antagonizing her with an answer she knew she'd never obtain. She closed her eyes and forced back a tear, trying to remember what her love was like. Even if nobody in Storybrooke could remember their past lives, she was determined to at least feel something from what she'd had before.

_Love is hope; it fuels our dreams. But love doesn't last forever._

Behind the tears, she could almost see him…

Long hair with a slight curl, hands that tended to gold, skin like stardust. She could see a stern face and narrow features. Proper in stance and regal in his bow.

Belle opened her eyes.

"A chipped cup," she muttered.

The witch stood straight quickly and fire lit inside of her eyes. Her lip curled and her shoulders straightened.

"What did you say?" the witch sneered.

Belle remained silent. She did not look to the witch but kept her eyes straight ahead, looking toward the door. Belle could feel the witch's body beside her; stiff and rigid. Slowly, the witch began to laugh.

The witch turned and began to walk away from Belle, shaking her head in disgust and heading toward the door. Her movements were so regal – so unlike a witch – yet her tendencies were too malicious for any hint of good. Every single one of them, including her captivation of Belle. She stopped, still facing the door and paused.

"Would you like to know the name of your prince?" she asked calmly, with a hint of amusement in her tone.

Though the witch's back was facing her, Belle nodded eagerly.

_Finally. Please…_

The witch turned her head over her shoulder and looked Belle straight in the eye. Her eyes were on fire and her teeth were glistening just as Belle remembered from their first encounter.

"I'll make a deal with you," the witch said.

Belle leaned over the edge of the bed.

_Anything…_

"I'll give you three guesses."

She turned abruptly and flung the door open and stepped out behind the door, latching the vault abruptly. Belle's head dropped; her eyes clamped tightly. Names poured through her mind, driving her to the bedside table and retrieving a small pencil and parchment paper from within.

The names began to filter out of her, crawling their way out of her through instances she'd never lived but had heard as a third party. She turned through the faces she had imagined in the stories and wrote down the names: James, Jiminy, the Huntsman, Granny, Ella, Snow White, Henry…

Belle placed the pencil to the paper and squinted in the darkness. She began to write all the names out, sorting them out by story and imagination. Through each story, she searched for her prince; looking for correlations. She filed each tale on the paper, linking their names in the forms of short stories, all of them connecting to a familiar ending, and all of them starting out with the words Once Upon a Time…


	2. Once Upon a Time

_ "Once Upon a Time…" in a land where time still existed; in a place where magic was real and curses could be broken, there lived many characters. Everyone had a story and everyone had their happy endings. The land was rich with enchantment, creating adventures and romances amongst the kingdoms. The people of the land believed in all the treasures of the heart and cherished the little or multitudes they possessed. In this land, true love was sought out by all and could break any curse…_

_ But one day, a powerful Queen sought the opposite of love and found revenge instead. She placed upon the land the most powerful curse of all; the removal of time and memory. The curse removed every person and creature from their kingdom and placed them in a new world; a town called Storybrooke. Every character lived a life amongst each other, unknowing of their connections and previous relations, longing to find a happy ending that would never come. The town was governed by the evil Queen and with her new power, she dwelled in the personal lives of all, making a game of their days and watching her victory occur daily at their expense. _

_ But even the Queen knows that every curse can be broken. _

_ These are the past stories of those who call Storybrooke their home._

* * *

_ Once upon a time, there was a beautiful young maiden __with skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony__… _Belle began.


	3. Dark Magic

**_Author's Note: _**_Wasn't the season finale amazing? I thought so... but my only disappointment was Belle's return. By all means, I was thrilled! I was bawling my eyes out. But then I realized that it sort of made this idea of mine null and void. But I've decided to keep at it anyway. _

_I'm still not sure how long this can end up, but I at least have two more chapters. I was so inspired Friday to finish this, and was half way through when I watched the show on Monday night, but I've decided rather than alter my ending to fit what happened in the last episode, I am going to keep it as I originally intended it to be. I hope you enjoy this little head canon of mine, and I cannot WAIT until fall season begins! Goodness, for somebody who does not watch any television, I sure am hooked!_

* * *

The latch to the vaulted door clicked and slid across the metal plates. Just as the door always sounded, it echoed throughout Belle's small chamber, forcing her to turn her head away from the noise and clutch her teeth. Such hope came from the door opening, yet such a brief moment of tension it formed. It hadn't been quite a week since the witch's last visit, according to Belle's internal clock, so perhaps it was the nurse? But the nurse never came into the cell unless necessary.

_Is there something wrong with me? _Belle thought.

Sure enough, there was nothing wrong with Belle at all. The witch's face peered through the crack of the heavy door, welcoming herself into Belle's quarters. Belle pushed her papers and pencil aside, hoping Regina would not have seen. She placed them underneath her blanket and sat carefully beside them. The witch walked in and paused as she closed the door. Her teeth gleamed like those of a wolf as she smiled kindly at her, ready again for another therapeutic session of venting her troubles from the land she created; the land without magic.

"Good morning, Belle," Regina said.

Belle shifted on the bed, remaining quiet as usual. The witch always seemed most content with her silence.

"Any guesses today?" she asked cheerfully.

She asked now every time she visited.

Belle's hand touched the parchment beneath the sheets. It had been nearly a month, Belle had estimated, since Regina had proposed their little guessing game. She wasn't sure what the prize would be if she guessed correctly, but she was determined to find out. Even just to learn the name of her prince would bring her such joy, she knew. But she still wasn't ready to make her first guess. Regina could sense this by her continued hush.

"Very well," Regina said.

Regina took a few strides across the length of the cell. She clapped her hands together then dropped them back at her sides several times, as if gathering her words. Her heels clicked against the grain of the concrete, driving Belle's senses wild while she closed her eyes to try and block the sound out. Belle knew she wasn't crazy, and she was certain that Regina didn't think she was either. But the sound of her pacing once a week for nearly 28 years was beginning to take a toll on her.

The witch stopped, her teeth bearing down on her again. _That smile…_

"We've had a bit of a breakthrough," she finally said.

Belle was hoping for a story to overcome the clicking of the heels. She needed to begin looking forward to adding to the stories she was retelling, but she was still intrigued by the idea of a breakthrough.

"Snow White had her first bite of an apple after all of these years," Regina beamed.

Belle knew Snow White's fear of apples well, even if it was all subconscious now. She'd just recently finished Snow White's tale on the parchment papers. After dissecting the characters attached to the story of Snow, she was sure her prince' name was not involved. There was a moment that she thought perhaps he was one of the dwarves, but Regina's mentioning in the suspect's death instantly ruled that out.

"I've told you Snow's tale," the witch said. "Far too often I have mentioned Snow…"

It was as if she knew Belle thrived off of these stories. Or she just enjoyed the meticulous form of torture it placed upon her.

"Though I don't believe I've ever told you much detail about the curse…"

Belle tensed.

She never considered there was anything more to it. What more detail did she need other than it had enslaved everybody in their land in a world without magic? Without memories of their past? Could it be any more awful than that? Even Belle, who was in on the details, was suffering greatly from it. She couldn't imagine how those actually living in Storybrooke were handling it.

"If I tell you, that would mean I'd have to mention _your prince_, though," Regina said, speaking more to herself.

_Just tell me, please._

"Though I suppose I could just leave his name out of it," Regina considered.

_Yes, _Belle though, _I want to know him…_

"It's just been very much on my mind lately," Regina confessed. "The curse, that is. If it is to be broken, the time would be coming very soon…"

_Tell me._

And then she began.

She detailed every happy ending in the kingdom and how grand each wedding was. The information was invaluable to not only Belle's interpretations, but in narrowing down her choice for her own story. She knew all the important players for the former kingdom and their endings. She knew the pairings, most which she was already aware of and some which she was surprised ended in tragedy. Her mind swelled with anticipation, bubbling over to begin writing it all down, but she waited patiently, waiting for the arrival of _her_ prince.

When Regina mentioned him, she was surprised to hear that he was a user of dark magic. She knew all along that he was an outsider of sorts, but the use of dark magic was always a concern. Belle could remember this even from her past life. She sat in deep foreboding, trying to imagine him. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel his touch, with a thrill gripping her soul.

As the witch completed her story of the curse, she was shocked to hear that her prince was the creator of the curse.

Regina seemed to feel the affect it had on Belle.

"Yes, Belle," she said. "He is responsible for your being here."

Belle began to tremble, feeling her throat swell with fear. So this was the beast Regina had slowly illustrating her prince to be…

"He created this curse for me," she sneered, leaning closer in to Belle, "and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure it's not broken."

Regina looked so regal standing before her. She truly was quite stunning, yet the darkness in her eyes frightened Belle. She seemed so fragile.

"Soon," she said wearily, "there is a chance that it can be broken."

Belle tried to look uninterested, but she knew every curse could be broken. Somehow, she knew that. Someone must have told her long ago.

"But I've made all precautions against _that_," Regina said.

"It can be broken?" Belle said quietly.

Regina stared for a moment, as if judging Belle's intentions. Her lips coiled in translation, thinking whether it would be wise to inform Belle. As she turned it over, her teeth bared their usual wicked grin, pleased with the outcome.

Even if Belle did get any other human interaction, her stories of fairytale characters would be nonsense to them. A young woman from the asylum could never be taken seriously. Regina knew her plan in confiding in Belle was worthwhile; she could vent her side of a story without fear.

"It can," Regina finally said, "by true love's kiss, just like any other curse."

Belle yearned again for her prince, now more than ever. If only they could be reunited.

"By a kiss," Belle echoed.

Regina nodded, a bit surprised at how talkative Belle was tonight.

"Yes, Belle," the witch said. "Not just any kiss, but the kiss of only one person; Snow White's child."

Belle didn't hesitate to react.

"Yes, Snow White and Prince James had a child," Regina said, clearing the water. "But she'll never make it to Storybrooke. The curse has been going on for 27 years… after the 28th, the magic will be all dried up."

_So close…_

"And once the 28th year has passed, all will be finished… Snow will remain blind to her love and will forever be lonely, as well as the rest of this town."

Regina's voice quivered with excitement as Belle trembled more noticeably.

"And my prince created this horrid curse?" Belle asked.

"Yes," Regina grinned.

She'd received years worth of stories from Regina with many hopes of finding her own happily ever after, yet now she saw nothing but doom, all created by her own prince's dark magic. Could she have been at fault for any of this?

_Remember, remember…_

All of the stories she'd heard and written, even illustrated to match Regina's descriptions…she was nearly finished with those she'd been told, but now the curse, the magic, the child!

_Remember, remember, remember…!_

Midas, Jefferson, Hansel, Fredrick, Baefire…names flowed through her mind, but none matched what she knew was truth. Somewhere buried in her heart beneath the stories was the name of her prince.

What was their story? Why did she love him? Why did he love her? What became of him? And why did he dwell in the evils of dark magic? Who used dark magic?

Regina was smiling at her, taking triumph in her only knowing victim. Belle couldn't bear to look at her grinning teeth anymore. She closed her eyes tight and imagined what home would be like. She imagined a place outside of her cell. A kingdom; a castle surrounded her, and she was very young. In the shadows, she saw a dark hooded figure approaching her father, bearing a sword in his hands.

"Take it," the man said. "One swing, and all power can be yours."

Her father… she recognized him, even in a younger state. He was the man who distantly raised her, preparing her for marriage since she could remember.

He had a grim look in his eyes, subdued from power like he normally showed. He seemed afraid of the man with the sword.

_She remembered…_

The cloaked figure pushed to sword closer toward her father, his teeth grinning.

Belle shivered. Just like Regina… the smirk of evil.

"Kill me," the figure said.

"Papa, no!"

_She remembered._

"Silence," her father said, holding his hand up in her direction.

He stood steady, eyeing the hooded figure and then stepping forward. The sword was almost against this chest.

"Zoso," he said, addressing the figure. "I have no need for dark magic. I have a kingdom and loyal men who give me all the power I need."

Belle opened her eyes.

Regina was watching her. The evil witch was looking at her, half with concern and half with pride. She could see the insanity slipping inside of her, physically taking hold of the one prize she didn't intend to let go. Belle was one final bargaining tool, perhaps for a rainy day. She smiled as Belle regained her thoughts on the bed.

"Zoso," she breathed.

Regina stiffened.

"What was that?" she asked.

"My first guess," Belle said.

She couldn't tell if Regina was pleased or writhing. Her expression was straight and stern. She crossed her arms across her chest and leaned her weight against one hip. Belle imagined she was wishing to know her reasoning in this guess, but she wouldn't give it. She'd never utter a word of her remembrance.

"No," Regina said sharply.

Belle sighed and lowered her head, digging her nails into the covers and feeling the parchment paper crinkling beneath her touch.

_One guess, wasted. _

Regina remained in the cell for so long, Belle could not begin to estimate the time she'd stayed. She merely stood in the same spot and stared down at her prisoner. Perhaps she had underestimated, Belle wondered. She was clearly shaken by the guess, but how could she truly know what it was she was thinking?

User of dark magic or not, Belle wanted her prince. She was determined now, more than ever, to find his name.

It seemed hours before Regina finally stirred, but Belle had only been used to her allotted time slots of visitation. Her presence pressing past her normal time was a discomfort as she could sense the morning turning into afternoon. Belle hadn't looked at her the entire time, but as she finally dared to look up, she caught the witch staring straight at her. As their eyes met, she bared a smile. And then she laughed.

"Better luck on your second guess," Regina said.

She turned gracefully toward the door and slid it closed with a heavy thud. The cell nearly shook with the force of the vault locking.

Belle turned from the door and grabbed her parchment from underneath the sheets.

Frantically, as if the ideas would evaporate from her mind over time, she finished the stories of those she'd skipped and gave full details of the curse. The wardrobe, the child and the death of Regina's own father were scrawled onto the papers, filling page after page until she was out of room. Without hesitation, she struck the door with her bare fists and called for the nurse, frantically begging for more paper. When she received it, she was back to work, writing the story and only stopping to think back on her own life.

With the memory of her father, she knew she could pull back a memory such as love. She worked through all the clues, pushing the name Zoso away and focusing on her task.

She would find him; no matter how dark he may be.


	4. Binding

_**Author's Note: **A have maybe two more chapters planned for this short story. I'm not sure how quickly they will be coming out but I'm hoping with a week off of work and then new schedules, it wont be too bad :) I'd had fun writing this, and it's been a good way to keep my mind off of waiting for Season 2 to come out in the fall. Can't wait! I hope you've enjoyed the story so far, and this chapter as well. Please leave a review with what you think, critiques, ideas... anything! The story is pretty much set in how it will end, but I LOVE to hear what people think is going to happen next, especially because that's definitely what I did during the series ;) Thanks for reading!_

_- Phantom's angel_

* * *

Time slipped away from Belle. She couldn't begin to estimate how much time had passed because the witch had failed to visit her for so long. What was happening out in Storybrooke that kept her away? Or was it her accuracy in guessing her prince's name that frightened Regina off?

With the lack of stories over the past weeks, Belle was forced to think them through on her own. She felt successful in linking the story of Prince James to Princess Abigail, and their desires for other paths to love. She drew upon the illustrious genie and realized his yearning for the Evil Queen herself. With the time she bought from her first unsuccessful guess to finding the name of her prince, she had nearly completed her project in full.

It began to look like a game to Belle; puzzling together the pages she'd completed and inserting them in order by time and place. Naturally, Snow White's story was first. Abigail's was placed somewhere in between, as was those of the eight dwarfs. Red was to follow, then Rapunzel…

Belle began illustrating the stories as well, taking the bits of details Regina once offered her and used them to draw the names as actual characters. Her imagination took control as she began to get really creative in using mashed up food, candle wax and mixed pills to add color. Belle was surprised at how well the colors stuck to the parchment paper.

Even if the drawings had plenty of chance to be inaccurate, they gave her the chance to truly feel the stories as if she were really apart of them. From her hazy memory, she was never part of any of their stories at all, but writing her characters how she was taught and drawing them how she saw them in her mind made her feel like she was apart of not only their stories, but Storybrooke as well.

How Belle longed to be out of the cell in the asylum and with the people she once walked amongst. Even if she were blind to the truth, at least she would have company. Perhaps the father she remembered more and more each day now would run into her at times. Maybe she would even have the chance to cross paths with her prince, even if she didn't realize it.

To complete the book of stories, Belle tied in the details of the curse against her people. She detailed the happily ever afters and the jealousy of the Evil Queen, eventually linking the birth of the child; a little girl named Emma, and the sweep of darkness over everybody's minds. If only she could remember all of it as clearly as Regina had depicted it.

One day, near the end of Belle's illustrations, she sat on the edge of her bed with the parchment papers scattered across her lap. She figured it was well past noon when she heard a faint, friendly voice in the hallway outside of her cell. She'd never heard anybody sound so pleasant before; not in her memory.

"You'll proceed at your own risk," the mousey voice of the nurse said from outside.

"I understand," said the friendly voice.

After a long pause, the latch of the door slid and the heavy door began to open. The light spilled into the room, drawing Belle's hand up to cover her eyes. It had been so long since Regina had come in to tell her stories, she was taken back at the sight of the light flooding her room. But suddenly, she was more surprised by the sight of a pleasant face entering her room.

She was a young woman; not too far off from Regina's age, it seemed. She had short black hair, like a raven, but her eyes and smile were much kinder than a raven. Her skin was light, with rosy pink cheeks, and her arms were crossed in front of her waist, linking at the wrists while holding a tote bag in front of her legs. The young woman looked hesitant as she stepped into the cell, but Belle was alert, though still a bit frightened to see a new face.

Belle looked down at her drawings on the bed, running her finger along the parchment of one particular piece. Another young maiden, similar in appearance to one she had recently illustrated. Snow White.

As the young woman stepped into her cell, Belle gathered the parchment papers and bunched them together quickly. She stacked them clumsily in her hands and placed them behind her back, pulling the sheets over them for extra protection. She couldn't be sure who this woman was, though she had her ideas.

The woman waited for the nurse to close the door behind her. Belle could see a bit of fear creep into her eyes, as if she were being trapped with a hungry animal. But she turned around and looked to Belle and smiled gently to her.

"Hello, Jane," the woman said kindly.

Belle cocked her head. She looked around the room to be sure there was no one else present, but sure enough, it was just the two of them. She looked back to the young woman and bit her lip.

"I'm sorry, is your name not Jane?" she asked, clearly embarrassed. "It's what the nurse told me your name was."

Belle hesitated. Surely, there was reason to her being called Jane; some value of protection behind hiding her true self. So she went along with it and nodded slowly.

"Oh, good," the woman said. "I was afraid I'd made a bad impression."

The young woman gave a quiet laugh.

She wore a cream colored sweater and a red scarf. Her pleated pants were an ashy grey with pint stripes running down her legs. She gripped onto her bag that hung down in front of her shins and it spun from the tension coiling in the straps. Belle watched as it swung back and forth, flashing an embroidered "Storybrooke Elementary School" logo.

"My name's Mary Margaret," the woman said.

Belle was taken back by her salutation. She'd fully expected for her to say her name was Snow White. It had to be her… the woman held her hand out to Belle for a hand shake, but Belle remained frozen, looking from her hand to her face with confusion. Mary Margaret slowly dropped her hand, obviously trying to make light of the situation.

"The nurse told me you might like a visit; I'm a volunteer at the hospital," she said.

Belle watched her hand gestures. They seemed fluent and inviting. The name must have been a cover-up from the evil queen. Perhaps she knew what was happening in Storybrooke and she was there to consult with her… to learn the truth that Belle was fortunate enough to know.

"Would you like a visitor today?" Mary Margaret urged.

_Yes, I would._

Slowly, Belle nodded.

She scooted over on the bed, pulling the parchment beneath the sheets over with her and looked back to Mary Margaret as a request for her to sit. The friendly young woman nodded her head, smiling kindly, and thanked Belle as she sat beside her, still showing a level of caution.

"I hope you're doing well today," she began, making herself comfortable.

Belle didn't know what to say.

Everyday was just like the other and the only excitement she knew was Regina coming in to give her another piece of a story. Lately, her thrill came from her work on placing the stories; on looking for her prince's name. Otherwise, doing well didn't seem to fit within Belle's understanding. It was an understatement at how not well she was feeling every day.

_Sure, I'm just fine._

Belle looked to Snow White and smiled. She didn't feel much like talking, so she assured her with all she really had left. She felt if she had purpose to talk, she'd use her words. Maybe even in her former life, she was quite talkative. She wouldn't know until she could remember… the small pieces she had acquired were so promising.

"Good," Mary Margaret said. "I'm doing well also."

She was good for keeping the silence away, at least. Belle liked that. Even if it wasn't a story, it was nice to hear someone speak.

"I work at the elementary school in town and finished work about an hour ago," Mary Margaret said. "I love teaching the kids. It's so fun to watch them grown."

Belle imagined what it was like to see a child. She'd been one before.

"I have one little boy in my class who I'm especially partial to," she said. "I admit, I probably shouldn't have favorites, but Henry is just special in some way."

"Henry?" Belle mumbled.

"Yes, that's his name," Mary Margaret said.

If there was one name Belle dwelled on the most lately, it was that of Henry. She knew the name to be linked to Regina's father, but there was a boy she was taking care of – her son she had adopted – who she called Henry. Belle could never decide where he fit in the story, but after hearing he was adopted, she'd settled on Regina's reasoning that there was no fit to the story for him. But hearing Snow talk about him so fondly gave Belle jitters.

"He's a sweet boy," she said more to herself. "And he's got quite an imagination."

_Oh? _

"He actually thinks his mother is an evil sorceress, or something to that extent."

She laughed.

_Evil Queen, actually... Smart kid._

"He's just looking for a way to cope," Mary Margaret sighed. "He was adopted, after all."

Belle was ready to jump off of the bed and exclaim everything she knew to Snow. She wanted to her know and to stop the curse, but then she remembered that only one could break the spell: Snow White's child. She wondered about Henry, but knowing he was in elementary school ruled that out immediately. The savior would be nearing 28 years old now. But with his suspicions of the queen, Belle knew this boy was onto something. Her stomach turned with anticipation. How could she relay what she knew to the son of her capture? How could he find the savior to release Storybrooke from the spell?

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be talking about this," Mary Margaret said, blushing.

_No, please keep going!_

"No," Belle said quietly.

Mary Margaret looked up and smiled. She placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze.

"Why don't you tell me about yourself?"

_If only I knew about myself._

Belle turned away and looked to the ground. She shifted on the bed and the parchment crinkled beneath her weight. She was working on knowing more about herself, but until she finished her work, she'd be stuck beneath Storybrooke forever. She'd remain the one who held knowledge over everybody else, except for herself. But time was running out.

"How about something you wish for?" Mary Margaret tried.

_I wish… _

Belle felt her mind whirl with thought. She wanted her prince, her life, her family, her dreams all to come back again. She wanted to know, even just what it was she once would have wished for. She wanted Storybrooke to go away and the old way of living for herself and for all those trapped up above. But at that moment, she wanted Henry.

She wanted to talk to him and get him to understand. She knew he was on the right track and he may have been the only one. If she could only get to him, she could fix everything the Evil Queen had told her of. She wanted to be brave for her kingdom…

_I want…_

The feeling sparked a memory of a man, less brave than she, but daring in his own ways. He was handsome and bold in his features, but something about him was not all Belle had expected of her prince. Perhaps it was he who she was looking for? Perhaps this image – this man she was drawing from her memory – was who she was meant to recall. She dwelled on the name as Mary Margaret looked to her. What did she want? Was it this man? Was it _Gaston _she wanted?

"I don't know," Belle said sadly.

Mary Margaret looked pitifully at Belle. She tried to smile, but she knew it was not what Belle needed. Her grip tightened around her shoulder, relaying her regret by a simple gesture of kindness. Belle shrugged her shoulders lightly.

"Would you like to be left alone?" Mary Margaret asked.

_Never…._

"Please," Belle said.

Snow White smiled and pushed herself off of the bed, grabbing her tote bag slowly and headed for the door. She paused before giving a couple of beats against the door, and then waited as they both began to hear feet scuffing in their direction down the hall.

"Will you come back to visit?" Belle called just before the latch slid over and the door began to open.

Mary Margaret hesitated before smiling back to Belle over her shoulder and nodding gently. The nurse stood on the other side of the threshold, waiting for the young woman to step out of the cell impatiently. Snow White smiled.

"Of course, Jane," she said.

As soon as she had stepped out of the cell, the nurse closed the door and turned the latch of the vault. Belle was alone again.

Her thoughts were left to dwell on all the years she had seen, past and present; in her kingdom before and in Storybrooke's asylum. All of the stories she had heard were transcribed to paper, and all of her imagination's pictures were drawn out to the best of her abilities. She had the pages completed, but how was it a help? Nothing in her stories helped her remember her name, and now she was acquiring names she'd never considered…

Gaston. A strong name. But one that made her feel tense as she tried saying it out loud. Clearly, it was part of her past life because of the feelings it drew from her, and perhaps it was correct because of their supposed unhappy ending. She offered herself the chance to give it a try – if she ever saw Regina again – but in the meantime, began to look frantically around the room.

She pulled the parchment from out under the covers and placed them neatly on her pillow. Then she began to pull the sheets off of the mattress, revealing the stained stripped cloth beneath. Belle ran her fingers along the hem and stopped as her fingers found thick chorded threats holding the sides together. She began to pluck her fingernails inside of the chords, weakening the threads and grinding them down until a piece snapped in half.

Belle unraveled the pieces slowly and kept the thread untangled across the floor, looping it in a perfectly laid circle behind her. Eventually, the entire bed was coming apart and all of the thread was removed. Underneath the mattress were two leather pieces that she pulled out and examined. She left the threads across the floor and focused her attention on the candle beside her bed. She dipped her pencil into the flame and waited for it to heat. As it began to spark at the end, she pulled one of the leather pieces to her lap and began touching the smoldering surface with the pencil.

The process was long and tedious, but Belle had all the time in the world. She carved along the outline of a sketch she had previously created and decorated it with an old fashioned design along the lettering she designed. After hours of work, she held the leather piece in the air and examined it through the light coming out of the crack of the door. In a single huff of air, Belle placed the leather down and sandwiched her stories and artworks between the leather. She then pulled a needle she'd acquired while the nurse was not looking upon delivering her food and threaded it with the chord across the floor. She pressed a hole inside of the leather in four separate locations and began weaving the chord between the pages.

As she finished binding the two leather pieces together, she held the finished product up in the air and examined it in the light. She slept well that night, with her masterpiece resting beneath her head for safe keeping. Each night, she fell asleep wrapping her arms around the pillow and the book of stories she made, falling asleep with the words "Once Upon a Time" stamped across the face of a leather book beneath her head.


	5. A Rose in the Cell

_**Author's Note: **A short little piece before the last (couple of?) chapter(s?). Like I said, this was originally a one shot, so I'm not going to be stretching this out further. This is also a different feeling for me because I've never posted in any other category other than Phantom of the Opera (my first and only true love). Though short, it sets up for the last bits that I plan for. I hope to have them up soon, though I am also trying to get the next chapter up for my POTO fic... let's hope work schedules are nice to me and I can get some stuff done during my lunches/breaks :) Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!_

_- Phantom's angel_

* * *

Snow White came to visit at a very particular schedule. Whichever day she chose, she stuck to it, according to Belle's knowledge of time. It seemed peculiar to Belle that someone with supposedly no concept of time kept it better than she could, though she figured the help of sunlight was at her aid. She estimated school hours ran sometime between 3 and 4 in the afternoon. She figured Snow, or Mary Margaret, was visiting with Belle anywhere between 4 and 5, just before her evening meal was served.

They talked about nothing in particular, usually the kids from the school or the new recipes Snow had been trying out. Belle was sad to hear that Snow had nobody to share her meals with. It made the curse more real in Belle's eyes as she could hear the hint of solitude in Snow's voice.

"But I tested that one of my kids," Snow usually would say, trying to cover her gloom.

Belle continued to let Snow do the talking, too. She figured out quickly that Belle was content to listen and Snow gave her plenty to think about. Namely, where Snow's Prince Charming was in Storybrooke. She tried to keep her mind off of figuring out her own prince's story while she was with Snow. She wanted to learn more about the town and about the life of a person directly affected by a curse. Belle felt she could be quite a good student, if she were allowed to learn or to read in the asylum.

Time went by slowly when Snow just spoke about nothing, but it flew when she began to talk about Henry. Belle couldn't get enough about him, but it never lasted. The stories were always very minimal in detail, but from everything she collected, it was he who she wanted to reach out to about the curse of Storybrooke. The more Belle heard about him, the more she knew he was the best to tell.

"Henry has been quite into genealogy lately," Snow mentioned in passing one day. "It must be hard being adopted, though I'm sure Regina gives him a great home."

_Doubtful. _

One day, on an afternoon when her prince was especially on Belle's mind, Snow White arrived with a rose. She offered it to Belle and gave a curt bow, making Belle all the more inclined to accept the gesture.

"I picked it up at Mr. Gold's," Snow said cheerfully. "He had Moe French in earlier this morning and he left him a full dozen in his shop. Mr. Gold's been trying to get rid of them all afternoon; I thought you might like one."

Belle smiled and held the rose tight, smelling it on occasion and taking in its fresh fragrance. These names she'd mentioned were completely foreign to her, it made so little sense. But as she thought of the rose as a gift, Belle gripped the rose tight on the stem, driving a thorn that was hidden beneath a leaf into her thumb. Belle flinched and shook her hand in the air before drawing her thumb into her mouth to suck the blood from her finger.

Snow was horrified at what she felt she had caused to happen, but Belle sat and stared at the blood dripping to the cement floor. Each drip made her recall the name she'd remembered a few weeks back.

_Gaston._

A drip of blood went to the floor.

"I am so sorry, Jane," Snow White kept saying.

Belle kept shaking her head.

Drip.

"Let me go get the nurse," Snow White offered.

_Drip. Drip._

Her father entered her mind again. He was present with her before she made a terrible deal – what was that deal she made? – and she was holding onto the grip of a handsome, strong man.

_Sir Gaston_.

Something about the rose reminded her, but was that the link? Was Gaston the name of her prince?

Snow returned with the nurse, who scolded her harshly. She said she'd armed a potentially dangerous patient.

_That means me._

"I can never tell Madame Mayor about your visits if this is how they are going to go," the nurse said in a panic, as if she'd be punished for Snow's mistake.

Snow left shortly after the incident, apologizing again to both Belle and the nurse.

The rose was removed from the room, and Belle held her hands out in the air, hoping to draw it back into her. Though the rose was removed from the cell, it was already too late; the damage was already done. Belle's thumb was split open and her mind was racing with memories of a man. Perhaps even a prince?

He was the one she was meant to marry; he was in line for her hand in marriage until she was pulled away from him. From Gaston. It was where their happy ending must have turned sour, and all Belle could recall now were the images of him. Though he always looked stern and bored, she remembered.

It seemed to be a day of wishes granted because later that night, well into the evening and just before Belle was going to bed, Regina arrived. She seemed troubled and paced the floor for a moment before turning to Belle.

Tearstains ran down her cheeks with the threat of more to come.

"I need a good pair of ears; do you mind?"

It was like a distant echo from years past, yet Belle now knew she needed her to listen no longer as a source of complaint, but as a comfort. Belle truly pitied the witch, especially as she began to detail how she was loosing her son.

"He never comes home after school, he questions me, he asks about his real parents…"

Regina went on in detailing Henry's behavior, leaving no aspect out, and Belle remained attentive, as always. She teared up periodically, but eventually regained her composure. Belle pitied her, yet she also loathed her for using her.

"Thank you," she said sincerely as she straightened out her skirt and blazer before turning to the vaults of the door. She reached out for the handle when Belle's hand shot out in her direction in the air.

"Wait."

Regina turned slowly, with false hope gleaming in her eyes as if Belle had a cure for her troubles.

"I-I have my second guess," Belle said.

The witch sighed quietly and seemed to try and not look offended. A slight smirk pressed against her lips.

"And?"

"Gaston," Belle said with more confidence than the first guess.

Regina smiled and turned away, putting her hand back on the handle of the vaulted door. With the same heavy thud, the door opened and the light from the halls streamed inside to Belle. Regina turned back to look at Belle before exiting the cell.

"One guess left."

Thud.


End file.
